


Intruders Shouldn't be This Cute

by disestablishmentarianism



Series: Bird Neighbors AU [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4054135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disestablishmentarianism/pseuds/disestablishmentarianism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Foggy wants to do is go to sleep after a tiring case, but there are drunken obstacles in his way.<br/>(Matt needs a map to his own apartment honestly)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intruders Shouldn't be This Cute

When Foggy finally gets home from work it’s way, way later than he was supposed to. Irrational millionaires shitting their pants over lawsuits isn’t exactly Foggy’s idea of a night out, but he does what he has to. At least when it comes to making enough money to keep up with his electricity bills. And pay for his fancy pastries.

Fumbling with his keys with one hand and the doorknob with the other, Foggy can’t help but groan when he realizes that he’s left his door unlocked. Again. As if leaving his TV and bathroom lights on weren’t enough to make him look like a forgetful idiot.

Still beating himself up about what is probably the stupidest mistake a single, somewhat well-off lawyer can make in an apartment like this, Foggy pulls open the unlocked door (incredible, really, the things an angry Marci can make a person forget) and lets himself inside. He thinks maybe he’ll pour himself a drink, find a shitty soap to watch, and eat the leftover Chinese from when Matt last came over to watch _Labyrinth_.

Once he’s inside though, he can’t help but notice the strange sounds coming from his living room. Thoughts of booze and food forgotten, Foggy quietly creeps down his front hall, picking up the baseball bat that he leaves by the coat closet on his way. This is totally what he gets for leaving his door unlocked, but if the police asks he’ll tell them that he has _no idea_ how the robber got in-

As soon as Foggy’s eyes adjust to the terrible lighting in his living room he freezes, because there is a _lump_ on his rug and that lump really _should not be there_ and should not be making those sad noises. There’s a sort of stalemate in which Foggy is frozen in fear and the robber (?) continues to lie prone on the floor until the lump rolls over and sniffs the air. What the fuck.

“F’ggy?”

The mumble from the lump (not a robber, then) startles Foggy so badly that he drops the bat his heart leaping as he gasps loudly. Immediately he whips his hand over to flip on the lights, blinding himself momentarily before revealing the identity of the intruder.

“ _Matt?_ ” Foggy hisses, brain still trying to fit together _robber_ with _Matt_ , but the evidence is clear.

Actually, the evidence is overwhelming. Matt’s glasses are crooked on his flushed (Jesus Christ) face, his normally impeccable suit crumpled and his hair (adorably) ruffled. If there was anything that Foggy would’ve been prepared to see upon returning home, it was not a smashed Matt lying on his rug.

“What- how did you get in here?”

No longer whispering, Foggy makes his way through the living room to kneel down beside his friend, his blonde head shaking in exasperation. Even 2 months P.B. (post bird), Foggy has never seen his friend past tipsy. Matt’s head tilts back so that his (long neck is exposed) shoulders roll over to lie flat on the ground and his eyebrows twist in confusion.

“No, no no, what? F’gy, _Fog_ no, you’re in my apartment,” Matt slurs, his face evening out into a dopey smile. “What are _you_ doing _here_?”

At this Foggy has to rock back onto his ass, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he looks around what is obviously his TV and afghans. His boy must be drunker than he thought.

“Matty, I’m sorry buddy but you’re wrong this time. Let your sober, seeing bro tell you what’s what. This is definitely my apartment, and you are definitely lying on my rug.”

With a soft whine, Matt head cocks to the side (like a puppy, good God). After a moment of intense contemplation in which his fingers rub into the floor and he sniffs again, Matt laughs a bit unsteadily.

“It does appear that… I have stumbled into the wrong apartment,” Matt giggles, his hands still stroking the carpet. “I wondered why everything was so… so…”

Foggy waits a bit for Matt to continue, but when he doesn’t he has to sigh and prod Matt’s shoulder a bit to get him to continue.

“Um, um, so… different? Not right.”

“Very eloquent. I see you also tripped over my ottoman,” Foggy grins.

“Hmm?” Matt jerks his head wildly to the side, his arm flinging up from the ground to gracelessly grope in the direction of the ottoman. “So that’s what that was.”

Foggy sighs, shaking his head again as he thinks again about his life choices. Mostly all the choices that lead up to him talking to his drunk neighbor at 3 in the morning.

“Matty-Matt, buddy, neighbor, what are you doing?”

“Ummm…” Matt once again has to pause to think, his mouth doing that dumb Kermit thing it always does. “Lying down? I’m preeeetty sure I’m not standing.”

Closing his eyes against the bright lights and rubbing his face, Foggy tries to will himself not to just pick up the dumb duck and carry him back to his own damn apartment.

“No Matt, I mean why are you so fucking drunk? It’s 3 AM. Did you know that?”

“It’s 3? Wow. Wow that’s really early,” Matt says. “I’m sorry, s’rry Foggy I didn’t mean to be a bother.”

Oh God, now Matt looks guilty and even with those ridiculously dark glasses Foggy can tell that Matt is _sad_ and sad Matt shouldn’t even exist, not in his apartment and not drunk and not _ever_. Regardless of whether it’s a Catholic thing or just a Matt thing, Foggy can’t let it slide.

“No, Matt, that’s not what I meant, buddy. You know that you’re welcome here all the time, that’s what friends are for,” Foggy tries to keep his tone light, but Matt just looks so _crushed_.

Still looking a bit like a lost puppy, Matt nods and continues to stroke the rug.

“Buddy, no, I meant why are you drunk at all? You said before that you don’t like it,” Foggy has to clarify.

In response, Matt only looks even sadder than before, his little (red, gorgeous) mouth curling down into a pitiful pout. Foggy immediately feels awful for even asking.

“I just, I don’t like getting drunk, don’t like the fuzziness and the…” Matt waves around a bit in front of Foggy’s face with shaky fingers. “The… the muffle. And the smoke. It douses the fire and I don’t _like_ it, but I… I _need_ it sometimes, even if he wouldn’t like it. The blocking stuff out part. Sometimes ya gotta force the devil to sleep, ya know?”

Foggy just gapes for a moment, shaking his head before realizing that Matt can’t see it.

“No, buddy, sorry, I don’t know, but that sounds pretty bad. What ever it is.”

Matt nods sincerely, as if Foggy said something truly groundbreaking, and goes back to feeling up the carpet.

“Hey, man, if it ever happens again, just text me, OK?” Foggy says after a while, his hand instinctively reaching out to run through Matt’s (fluffy, soft, pure) hair. “I’ll make sure you get home safe. Maverick and Goose, right?”

“Right,” Matt finally grins, loose and sloppy, before his lips bounce right back into a small frown. “But.. no texting.”

“Huh?”

Matt shakes his head slowly, still looking impressively intense.

“No texting, it’s too hard. I can’t… the talking phone doesn’t sound like you and when I can’t talk right, the phone… it hates me. Doesn’t always say what I want it to,” Matt grumbles.

With a laugh, Foggy’s worry at Matt’s obvious annoyance melts away into amusement. He’d assumed that Matt texted with something techy and convenient like talk-to-text, but he hadn’t thought about how hard it must be to use when drunk.

“Alright, buddy, I hear ya. No texting when drunk. Or maybe even at all. Just call, right?”

Matt nods happily, at ease with Foggy’s reassurance. Foggy can’t help but match Matt’s dorky grin, the silence comfortable and easy until Foggy has to break it by noticing Matt dozing off.

“Hey, hey, you can’t fall asleep on the floor, buddy, your back’s gonna hate you in the morning,” Foggy explains, shaking Matt’s shoulder gently before making his way to standing.

Matt groans, smushing his face into the carpet like a toddler. He moans out a long refusal rather than acknowledge Foggy’s insistent hands.

“C’mon, we gotta get you to bed.”

Still unmoving, Matt poses a formidable force of stubbornness. But Nelsons aren’t known for backing down, and Foggy only sighs and runs a hand through his hair, already mentally preparing for the long, strenuous journey between the living room and the bedroom. But the image of Matt waking up warm and cozy in a soft bed makes Foggy’s effort and night on the couch seem more worth it.


End file.
